Word of a Lady: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “He is very charming, Lady Rosaline,” smiled Harriet. “And also very kind.” She went on to tell the ladies about her entertaining drive home in the back of the wagon, perched on a sheepskin pillow. “It was most thoughtful of him.”

  Letitia’s eyes narrowed. “Did you happen to see the name of the ale in those barrels?”

  Harriet thought for a moment. “Yes. It was Chillendale ale.”

  “Uh oh.” Tabby blinked. “Simon is going to be beside himself.”

  “Edmund too.”

  “Hmm.” Letitia chuckled. “Looks like the gentlemen have bought themselves an early Christmas present.”

  *~~*~~*

  Harriet had to wait another hour before she could confront Letitia alone in her bedchamber. And even then, the conversation didn’t begin the way she had anticipated.

  “Harriet, I’m so sorry,” apologized Letitia.

  “For what?” At a loss, Harriet stared at her.

  “For bringing up Seton-Mowbray. I knew the name sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until I’d already mentioned him that I recalled why.”

  “’Tis no matter,” Harriet brushed the apologies aside. “And I will agree with your assessment. The man is indeed of a very handsome appearance.”

  There was a short silence while both women recalled Mr. Max Seton-Mowbray with a certain degree of reverence.

  Then Harriet got down to business. “Now. We’re quite alone. Please, dear Letitia, spare me the pain of waiting a moment longer. Why do you need not one, but two, silk nightrails?”

  “Because I thought they might be rather nice to sleep in?” Letitia continued brushing her hair in front of her vanity table, with apparent unconcern.

  “Nonsense,” retorted Harriet. “You could have learned that any time over the past years.”

  “True,” said Letitia.

  Harriet observed a tiny grin curving the lips she could see reflected in the vanity mirror. “You are teasing me. It is quite acceptable for you to do that, even though I am in dire distress.”

  “Cruel, would you say?”

  “Brutal, if you want to know the truth.”

  Letitia giggled. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist the chance to tweak your curiosity just a little bit.” She put down her brush and turned on the stool to face Harriet. “All right. The truth.”

  “Yes please.” Harriet perched on the bed.

  “James and I are going to fuck.”

  Harriet blinked. Drew a breath and choked. And spent the next few minutes having her back soundly slapped by Letitia until she managed to speak without coughing.

  “Ow. I’m all right. You can stop hitting me now,” she protested.

  “Well you worried me.” Letitia moved back to her seat. “Don’t do that again.”

  “I won’t, if you promise not to drop such an enormously outrageous statement in front of me ever again.”

  Letitia nodded. “I promise. But blunt as it was, it is the truth.”

  “You and James are going to sleep with each other?”

  “I doubt there’ll be much sleeping involved,” grinned Letitia. “But yes. That’s the gist of it.”

  “And this is for your book?”

  For a moment or two, Harriet could have sworn that she saw a look of yearning flash over Letitia’s face. But then it was gone. “Probably not for Cytherean Tales. Mr. Lesley has it in hand now.” She lifted her chin. “But for the next one, yes. Fucking James will be excellent experience, invaluable research and will add a dimension to my writing that was lacking. Lesley was right in that.”

  “You are so blunt,” said Harriet.

  “I know it’s not a word heard in the drawing rooms of polite society, Harry. But it does cut through all the absurd euphemisms.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “It’s what I want, dear girl.”

  “Are you sure? Does he have an affection for you? Does he admire you?”

  “To judge by the noticeable bulge of his excitement when he touched me the night of the ball, I’d answer yes to both.” She frowned. “Or, wait, let me modify that. He has a most satisfactory physical response to me. And that’s really all I need.”

  Chilled by these words, Harriet looked at her friend. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” Letitia’s words were far too casual for Harriet’s liking. “I am honest in all things. All I want from James FitzArden is his body, and that will be that. Word of a lady.”

  “You’ll be his mistress, then.”

  “No.” Letitia snapped back a fast response. “No, never that.”

  “And what if James wants more?”

  Letitia shrugged. “Dearest friend. What more can there be between us? I’m a Ridlington, with all the damage and unpleasantness that goes along with it. My father cast a long shadow and we’re still in it. No, James will be happy to lie with me, and I shall learn everything I need to know about fucking from a man who knows what he’s doing.”

  Harriet thought that statement over for a minute or so. “How do you know that?”

  This time, it was Letitia who cleared her throat. “Well…”

  “Letitia?”

  “It was at the ball,” she sighed. “James had the supper dance. But instead of taking me in to the supper room, he took me to another smaller room in the back of the Seton-Mowbray mansion.” She looked at Harriet. “And he locked the door.”

  “Oh. Goodness…” She couldn’t help her eyebrows rising. “And then…”

  “Yes. Then,” whispered Letitia. “He touched me, Harriet. With his hands and…and his mouth…and his tongue…” one hand drifted absently to her breast. “Everywhere.”

  “Oh God,” blurted Harriet. “Was it…”

  “It was wonderful,” sighed Letitia. “The most amazing sensations, and so much more than I could have anticipated.” She looked at Harriet. “You have no idea how different one’s release can be when it’s a man’s hand doing the releasing.”

  Harriet frowned and shook her head. “What?”

  It was Letitia’s turn to stare at her friend and blink. “You know. Achieving your release.”

  Harriet shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Good Lord.” Letitia jumped up and hurried to her desk. “You are so damned intelligent, Harriet. Your wit and your brain and everything…how on earth have you lived this long without knowing how to satisfy your physical needs?” She rummaged through sheaves of paper. “Here.” Pulling a small book from beneath three other ones, she strode to Harriet and held it out toward her.

  Harriet eyed it with the same dubious concern she would have given a small rodent in the outstretched hand. “What is it?”

  “It is—” Letitia considered her words. “An instructional pamphlet. Take it to your own room. Read it several times. Then try it yourself.”

  “I’m not sure this is for me…” she tentatively reached out to accept it.

  Letitia snorted. “My dear girl, it’s for every woman. It’s something we should all know about before marriage. And something your husband should definitely know about because if he doesn’t, then you can teach him.”

  “Oh no,” said Harriet, horrified. “I couldn’t…”

  “Yes you could.” Letitia paused. “Well, all right, it might probably be a difficult conversation. But if you are committed to a happy life with your future husband, whoever that might be, then communication is the key. Don’t you agree?”

  “I don’t plan on having a husband.”

  Letitia opened her mouth—then closed it again. She merely shrugged.

  “You see? We are alike, Letitia. Neither of us wants to risk loving a man.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Harriet looked at the book, handling it as if it were likely to explode any moment. “Did James need you to tell him what to do?”

  A fascinating colour spread over Letitia’s cheeks. “Well, no.”

  “Ah. A man educated in the ways of women, would you say?”

  “Wel
l, yes.” The blush deepened.

  “So he assisted you in achieving this…this release sensation?” She waved the book in the air.

  “Yes he did.”

  “And it was pleasurable?”

  “Dear God, Harriet. Yes. Yes, it was astounding.” Letitia groaned and came to the side of the bed. Then she threw herself onto the quilt face down. “It was incredible.”

  “I can’t hear you, dear. Your mouth is in the pillow.”

  Letitia raised her head and laughed at Harriet, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks bright red. “It was, not to put too fine a point on it, fucking awesome.”

  “I see,” grinned Harriet. “Well then. I’d better go and see what all this fuss is about.” She gathered the book and her shawl and left Letitia’s room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  FitzArden Hall was a welcome sight to James’s weary eyes.

  From the outside, it looked a pleasant mansion, not overwhelming with pillars and columns, but welcoming with a blend of warm brickwork and creamy marble.

  He noted that the trees he’d asked for had been planted, and made a mental note to himself to thank Paul for overseeing much of this. Trips to London were to be avoided as much as possible, but were a necessary evil, since his business interests had paid for the vista confronting him as he rode into his own driveway.

  Lights permeated the growing early November dusk, an even more welcoming sight. Smoke came from the chimneys, which told him the cook and kitchen staff he’d hired had settled in.

  Cantering up to the front door, he was pleased to see that it opened almost immediately, and a footman rushed out to hold his horse.

  “Welcome back, sir.”

  “Thank you, Henry. How’s everything?” James alighted and unfastened his traveling bags.

  “Very good indeed sir. Mr. DeVoreaux has seen to a dozen things while you’ve been away. I think you’ll be happy with ‘em.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  Another man walked to the horse’s head, doffing his cap respectfully. “I’ll take him now, sir.” He took the reins from Henry.

  “And you are…?” asked James.

  “Pewsey, sir. Just lending a hand in the stables, like. Yer stable master was kind enough to offer me a week or two’s work until everything gets sorted.”

  “Very good. I trust Morton when it comes to my horses. So I will trust you too.”

  “Won’t let yer down, sir.” He stroked the tired stallion’s nose and then led the docile beast back toward the stables, which James had tucked away behind a small copse of trees to the side of the Hall.

  “I’ll take yer bags, sir.” Henry lifted them. “Mr. DeVoreaux is in the small parlour.”

  “Then I’ll join him.” Paul stripped off his riding gloves and walked into his own home at last.

  It was indeed a delightful sight to see Paul reading in a large chair near the fire, one ankle resting on the other knee, a snifter of brandy beside him. He looked up as James entered.

  “Welcome home, Sir James.” He closed the book and grinned. “Your palace is most comfortable.”

  “So I see,” chuckled James. “And my brandy—you have an opinion on that too?”

  “Indeed.” Paul picked up the glass and swirled the liquid around. “I doubt any duty was paid on this. Far too good to have been soiled by something as mundane as a customs officer.”

  “I will never reveal my secrets.” James walked to the sideboard and poured himself a matching glass, then walked to the sofa and settled himself into a contented sprawl.

  “How was the greatest city in the world?”

  James shrugged. “It was as always. Foul-smelling, noisy, and full of hypocrisy.”

  “Ah, London. How I miss it.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” Paul chuckled. “Not in the least. Did you do the pretty with Society?”

  “I went to a few affairs, if that’s what you mean.”

  Paul put down his glass. “I suppose what I’m actually asking is if you saw Letitia, and if so, how your pursuit of the fair lady is progressing.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you saw her, or you don’t know if you’re progressing.”

  “Yes, I saw her. Yes, I’m progressing.”

  Paul blinked. “Then why don’t you know if it’s yes or no?” He frowned. “I’m confusing myself.”

  “I need more brandy.”

  Paul held out his empty glass silently.

  An hour later, matters were no clearer, but James had a smile on his face. “She’s a most intriguing woman, all right.”

  Paul managed a slightly out-of-focus stare. “Letitia?”

  “No, Lady Jersey. Of course Letitia, man. Who else?”

  “Hmm. Good question.” Paul chuckled. “Don’t look at me like that. Remember I’m at least one, if not two, snifters ahead of you.”

  “True. Apologies.” James shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his cravat. “She wants to spend the night here.”

  “Lady Jersey?”

  James sighed and tried again. “Letitia wants to spend the night here. With me. In bed.”

  That took a few moments to fully percolate into Paul’s consciousness. James waited with interest to see if it would actually register.

  “I see.”

  No…not quite yet…

  “You mean here. At night.”

  We’re getting close…

  “Oh.” Paul’s eyes widened. “Good God.”

  The hounds have found the fox at last.

  “Quite.” James couldn’t help a grin.

  “You’re going to—she wants to—”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I’ll be damned. How did you manage that?”

  James stared into the fire. “I didn’t. She asked. She was blunt and precise. I want you to fuck me, James. Those were her words.”

  “Well then.” Paul sagged back in his chair. “No misinterpretation possible with that, I’d say. So why the frown?”

  “It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, Paul. She’s still under the impression that she cannot engage in any true affection because she’s a Ridlington.”

  The fire crackled, and Paul leaned over to put another log on top. He missed slightly, but it was close enough to keep the merry blaze going for a bit longer. “Women are prey to strange fancies, I’ve discovered.” He nodded sagely.

  “You and every other man who’s ever had contact with one.”

  “So you told Letitia yes?”

  James snorted. “I may be an idiot, Paul, but I’m not stupid.”

  “Hmm.” Paul followed the conversational train. “You’ll need me gone, then.”

  “Probably best. Not that I’m kicking you out, of course…”

  “Of course not. Besides I don’t actually live here, although it might seem that way…”

  “Thank you for the great things you’ve done while I was gone. I believe I forgot to say that earlier.”

  Paul glanced at him. “What things?”

  “I don’t know. Henry mentioned them. Thought I should thank you for them.”

  “You’re rambling, James.”

  “Damn brandy.”

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the thought of a night with Letitia?”

  James gave Paul a look which should have shrivelled him in his chair and singed the upholstery at the same time.

  “Ah. Forget I asked.” Paul grinned. “Oh, while we’re talking about women, you should know that Miss Harry favoured me with her story.”

  “Really?”

  “Awful things women have to put up with.”

  “I can’t argue with you on that,” said James. “She’s quite charming in her own way, isn’t she? She’s good for Letitia.”

  “She is indeed charming.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “Developing an interest there, old lad?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly. Maybe.” He paused. “I’m no
t sure.”

  James raised his snifter and squinted at Paul through the bowl. “And that, my friend, sums up the state of affairs for us gentlemen when we allow ladies to become important in our lives.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  *~~*~~*

  Harriet and Letitia had managed to keep themselves occupied with their day-to-day routines, while awaiting word that James had returned to FitzArden Hall.

  For Letitia, it was difficult, since now that she had set a course, she was eager to pursue it. When the morning post failed to reveal a note from him, her day seemed a little darker. Many times it actually was darker, since November was settling in to be a damp, cold and rainy month, requiring more fires, candles lit much earlier and stout boots.

  Ridlington Chase wasn’t known for its efficient use of firewood, so a decision was made to restrict winter access to those rooms which could be used without the need to shove something into a window frame to keep it closed, or buy new, heavy draperies to keep out the drafts.

  Edmund hated to do it, since restoring the house was one of his goals and he feared a harsh winter might set those plans back.

  But they all agreed it was the sensible course of action, and Letitia volunteered herself and Harriet to mastermind the project. It gave her something to do, and kept both their minds focused on an important task.

  The topmost floors of the central wing were as snug as they could be; housing as they did the current limited staff of the Chase. Beneath them were a couple of habitable rooms—one that Chidwell used as an office, reserving the other for a housekeeper, when such a person could be hired.

  Beneath that lay the bedchambers of the family; all in relatively acceptable shape now, after Edmund and Rosaline had ordered new windows, and sealed up the mouse holes in the wainscoting.

  The house itself had been in deplorable condition, but slowly it was coming back to life. The east wing was still off limits, with flooring that might fail and staircases that were less than reliable.

  The west wing was getting more attention, and several of the ground floor rooms were now in use. It was where Rosaline’s small study was tucked beside the parlours, and Edmund’s larger domain took up a quarter of the wing’s floor space.